


Out of Destruction's Haze

by SoWrongButSoWrite (CinnaStarks)



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, Depression, Destroy Ending, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 16:42:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2857742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnaStarks/pseuds/SoWrongButSoWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Reapers were dead, but they both knew that it had been far from a victory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Destruction's Haze

**Author's Note:**

> I don't like using artistic license, but I am going to when it comes to how long it takes for the Normandy to get back to Earth. Four months is way too short, I know.

Shepard was alive.

“Hurray.” Nobody, not even its source, heard the word fall from Miranda’s lips. It did not survive the fall from the apartment’s fifth story balcony, one of the last whose walls were still intact, that she and Oriana had found soon after landing in London’s historic district. Her sister refused to call it squatting, claiming that “People care more about living than they do about credits, now.” As if the anarchy below Miranda’s feet could be called that.

Before the Commander had saved them all, there were at least laws to be broken. The Council may have been ignorant of Miranda’s solitary fight against Cerberus, but it was with their beliefs that she justified her actions. Henry Lawson had supported the murder of innocent civilians. That was against the law. He deserved punishment. Beneath her, there was no order. Gangs roamed the streets, their hands covered in as much blood as the average husk, in search of basic needs. A biotic smash could scare them off but, after only a week of trying to eliminate them, Miranda had realized how hopeless it was.

Some people, like Oriana, provided for their families by helping rebuild. For every person like her, however, there were two who fought for their necessities.

The day Miranda had to kill mother and her baby, who had been cradled in a sling wrapped around her chest, out of self-defense was the day that Miranda stopped fighting. It had not been by choice. Her senses, however keen her father had programmed them to be, had simply stopped working. Like the grey London skies, Miranda’s mind was coated in a thick haze. Oriana’s words, despite being acknowledged whenever they spoke, were never processed and her sister had noticed.

“If I have to be your guardian angel for a change, then I will.” The memory was one of the few that brought back some semblance of happiness. “You deserve it.” But then, during the occasional moment of clarity, the same words would make Miranda dig her nails into the first patch of bare flesh they could find. She was supposed to be the strong one. She was supposed to be using her genetically engineered assets to help the crumbling world around her. She was better than this.

Usually, those episodes were alleviated by browsing an anonymous, extranet bulletin board called PyjickPyjack. Before the Reaper invasion, it had been used as a way for the galaxy to say what they were afraid to in person. In the invasion’s aftermath, it still was. The subjects, however, had changed from the size of an Asari’s rear to the lack of food in one’s stomach. It wasn’t much, but it was enough of a reminder that there was nothing more she could be doing to help.

Today, that reminder could not be found. Rumors of Shepard’s recovery had spread like wildfire across London’s server. Of course she was alive. She was Commander Shepard, savior of the uni-

“Randa.” A shaken voice tugged her back to reality. Miranda turned to face her sister.

“Yes?”

Oriana sighed deeply into the dank air, her eyes darting in every direction but forwards. “You haven’t left the flat since last week.” Cracked nails dug into the ragged sleeves of her jacket. “The hospital’s lead construction supervisor is sick and, since I’ve worked at the site for almost four months, it makes sense that they’d want me to take over her night shift.” Miranda could see her gnaw on the inside of her sunken cheeks. “I can’t come back to check on you.”

“Okay?”

Anxiousness contorted itself into frustration as Oriana’s muscles stiffened. “Which means I need you to get out because leaving you alone in a five story flat for long periods of time-“ She swallowed. “-scares me. Besides, you’re going to rot if you stay in one place the rest of your life. There’s a bar about three blocks down the street that still takes credits, which I know you have to spare, if you need ideas.”

Grey irises found their exact match.

As much as she wanted to, Miranda could not say no to this request. “Fine.” She released her grip form the stainless steel grating that separated her from the pavement below. “I-“ The flicker of motivation to say whatever it had been dimmed before the words could emerge; another side effect of her mind’s haze.

A calloused hand guided Miranda inside by the shoulder. It guided her through the living room and past the reflection of two women. Both wore clothes that weren’t meant to hang like drapes from their frames and faces older than the number of days they had spent alive, but only Oriana’s hair looked as if it had been brushed in the last week. Miranda’s still draped about her head like a ratty, black hood.

The hand did not stop pushing her forward until they had reached the sidewalk outside of the complex’s ground floor. “Walk east until you see a blue sign that says ‘The Smashed Hanar’ and try not to get into trouble.” It pat her on the back. “See you in the morning, Randa.”

Miranda glanced at her sister’s retreating figure. “Bye Ori.” She said before beginning her walk in the opposite direction. Despite the clouds caught within her skull, Miranda’s gait had remained unchanged. Her legs still moved with purpose, even if their owner had lost hers. Each stride was still focused on the goal of getting to her destination.

The Smashed Hanar couldn’t have been much bigger than her quarters on the Normandy. One of the reasons Oriana had recommended it, Miranda figured. Besides the asari bartender, only a broad shouldered figure, probably male, occupied the space. It was early in the night, after all.

It wasn’t until Miranda had settled herself into a stool two seats away from the stranger that she realized how long it been since she drank recreationally. A few shots of looted rum every week kept her mind from slowing to a stop on Earth, but the last time she had consumed alcohol for the fun of it was at Shepard’s party. She couldn’t even remember if she liked whatever those drinks had been, let alone if they were available in a bar in the middle of what used to be London. “I’ll have whatever he’s having.” Miranda leaned forward, letting her forearms support a good portion of her weight on the bartop.

“Whiskey neat. If you need anything, the name’s Tinoa.”

The second that the bartender had her back to Miranda, he spoke.

“Miranda?”

Her blood ran colder than the rain that had begun to pour outside.

“Joker.” She kept her eyes trained on the scuffed bartop. “Shouldn’t you be with-“

“-don’t say her name.” Every word seemed to be shoved out in a manner so pained that it conjured up a memory Miranda had thought was long gone from her subconscious. The last time she had heard Joker like that, he had just survived a Collector attack on the Normandy SR2. She had accused him of letting the rest of his crew die.

Miranda was numb. “Sorry.” She mumbled.

“Don’t be.” He said. “You didn’t sacrifice the happiness of someone that has been by your side since day fucking one for the good of the galaxy.” A choked, watery laugh hit her like a brick to the face. “That someone was a crippled asshole who was responsible for your first death, though, so I guess it’s fair.”

Against her better judgement, Miranda diverted her gaze from the bar to the pilot. Even with more than just a few seconds to take the details in, the man sitting beside her looked nothing like the Joker she had once known. A thin layer of brown hair sat exposed on his head, the cap he was rumored to sleep in nowhere to be seen. The collar of his Alliance uniform peaked from beneath a nondescript black hoodie and, if Miranda had not been so observant, she would have guessed that this was to keep from being recognized. But she was.

It was like looking in a mirror.

“Who else?” Miranda asked, hoping that she wouldn’t have to elaborate.

Joker’s dead, blue eyes stayed in her gaze. “My father and sister.” They moved to his drink. “You?”

She shook her head. “Nobody yet.” The glass of oak-colored liquid that the asari had set in front of her looked tempting, but she didn’t touch it. “Ask my sister and you might get a different answer.”

“You and I definitely look the part.” A small smile crept upon Joker’s cracked lips. “Chakwas suggested that we put my name on the Normandy’s memorial board.” He looked back at her. “Can’t think of what could have turned the genetic perfection that is Miranda Lawson into a half-dead looter, though.”

“Genetic perfection” bit back the urge to curse. “It’s not that much of a story.” She said. “We landed shortly after they were destroyed. Oriana joined the rebuilding effort and I tried to combat the more violent survivors.” Her throat ached for the whiskey in front of her, but she did not drink. “Haven’t used my biotics since I had to kill a mother and her child just to avoid being shot.” The sob that had begun to form in the pit of her chest wasn’t fought. “That was three months ago.”

Joker ran a skeletal hand over his cropped hair. “I spent who knows how long locked in the bridge before waking up in the medbay. Vega had dragged me there after my body decided it had had enough of my malnourished bullshit.” Red-rimmed lids slammed shut. His hands clenched into fists. “Meanwhile, she’s being treated like a damn martyr in some mansion turned hospital on the outskirts of this Hell.”

“This wasn’t your first stop, was it?” A useless question Miranda already knew the answer to.

Joker’s chest seemed to spasm as muted sob escaped his lips. “I left my cap with her after she admitted that there had been other options.” He said. “Said that it was the only piece of the SR2 that she’ll ever touch again.” One, two tears slid down his cheeks. No move was made to wipe them away. “Everyone I care about just looks at me like my dad did when I was first diagnosed with Vrolic’s.” Joker didn’t wait for her to ask how. “I’m back to being that pitiful kid with brittle bones and a shit attitude.”

Miranda didn’t know what she was doing until she was standing beside Joker. Just like Oriana had done barely an hour prior, she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “No.”

“I don’t need your sympathy, Miranda.”

“This isn’t sympathy, it’s fact.” For the first time in too long, she felt as if her tongue was channeling biotic energy between her lips. These words had body.  “We worked our asses off for what? Hopelessness? Pain?” Miranda tried to push back the red that was edging her vision. “We’re not dead, but we might as well be.”

Joker sighed. “We?”

“Yes, we.” Calloused fingertips brushed against their owner’s neck, a nervous habit that had not faded with time. “You were a pain in my ass during our time with Cerberus and I won’t deny that I could have been friendlier, but that’s in the past.” Miranda explained, fighting to keep her motivation to speak alive. “Maybe we could benefit from each other’s company now that we’ve both hit rock-bottom.”

His boots hit the floor. Blue met grey. “You look like shit.” Said the man with sunken eyes. “The Normandy’s showers could probably fix that if you promise not to accuse me of letting our crew get abducted for the second time.”

Her cheeks ached as the corners of her lips curved upwards for the first time in weeks. “You say that like it might happen.”

“Knowing our luck?” Joker shrugged. “Gotta be prepared for anything.”

Was that a laugh building in her chest? “Speaking of which, how are we going to get there? Most Alliance shuttles, especially in the historic district, are usually swarmed before they even land.”

“I can answer that.” The bartender, Tinoa, butted in.

Joker grimaced. “Please don’t.”

“He landed it on the roof!”

“It?”

“I-“ He scratched at the back of his neck. “-paid one of the doctors a hundred credits to use her car and-“

 “-landed on the roof and broke in.” She glared at the humans. “Thank the goddess you had the decency to actually buy something, unlike this lady friend of yours.” A blue thumb jabbed the air near Miranda’s face.

Within seconds, the three of them were blinking in the sudden glow of her Omni-Tool. “Two hundred credits should cover the whiskey and my trust in your ability to keep quiet about everything you heard tonight.”

Tinoa’s features softened at the gesture. “Thanks, but now that you mention it-“ She looked at Miranda with wide eyes. “-my sister and her salarian husband know more about human illness than most of your kind, but most of their research was destroyed in the invasion. Dr. Solus was a hero of theirs and since-“

“I’ll send anything I can find of his your way.” Though the whiskey had gone untouched, Miranda felt a warmness radiating from her abdomen. “Stay safe, Tinoa.”

The asari bowed slightly. “Goddess be with both of you, as well.”

And they were gone.

Neither said a word during their slow, five story climb to the roof. Usually, it would have given Miranda time to think, but she kept hitting dead ends. Things had happened in the bar. She had run into Joker. She had helped Tinoa. But what did it all mean?

Fortunately, Joker seemed to be going through the same dilemma. “What the shit?” He said as soon as they were airborne. “I just ran into Miranda fucking Lawson in a bar in the middle of London’s ruins.”

“Yes you did.” She said, unable to take her eyes off of the passing scenery outside her window. “And she’s just as much of a wreck as you are.”

In the corner of her eye, she saw him shaking his head. “My turn to disagree.” Joker said. “I wouldn’t have helped that Tinoa chick, even if it was the right thing, because of my psyche is beyond fucked up right now.”

“I honestly don’t know what was going through my head after I got up.” Miranda slumped further into the passenger seat. “Talking to you just revived something I thought had died months ago.” As if it agreed, her heart began to beat faster within her chest. “Thank you, Joker.”

For but a few moments, he took his eyes off the screen. With a simple gaze, he pulled hers away from the window and into his own. “No, thank _you_ for saying something I wasn’t brave enough to.” Joker smiled and Miranda could not help but mirror its warmth. “I’m glad that you ran into me, Miranda. Don’t know if I would have made it back to the Normandy if you hadn’t.”

What followed was a silence that Miranda had never experienced. Her stomach tightened. Her lungs shrunk even as she tried to take a breath. The air became still.

“She did it for him.”

“Yeah.” Joker’s voice was just as soft as her own. “I’m jealous too.”

 

 

 


End file.
